Baudelaire

I think this song is about how both the boring ones and the wild ones are both guilty. Those that accuse the passionate of sins are guilty themselves of the sin of removing themselves from the world. This kind of idea was expressed by Baudelaire in the preface to "The Flowers of Evil," so that could be what the title is about.

And, afastingartist, you are exactly what's wrong with any kind of open-discussion music forum like this. Just because you think your opinion is most perfect and most correct doesn't make it true. Your imagined superiority doesn't give you the right to yell at anyone or accuse anyone. So why don't you shut up or figure out how to say anything without being a total tool.

if you're bored, there's a problem, and if you're boring, there's an even bigger problem

I totaly agree but then would that make me an even bigger problem... :X well fuck man

and named after (and possibly influenced by) a great poet

this one is about people that stay within the confines of tradition and fear. the message of this song is that it's a tragedy to never explore outside the norm or beyond where you're comfortable. rock on conrad.

doesn't their (ex) bassist Neil Busch sing this song?

Si le viol, le poison, le poignard, l'incendie, N'ont pas encor brodé de leurs plaisants dessins Le canevas banal de nos piteux destins, C'est que notre âme, hélas! n'est pas assez hardie.

Thank you so much, Shoegazed!!! I'd have had to hunt forever for that. For those of us that don't read French, look up Baudelaire's "To the Reader," or for the lazy, just Wiki "Le Flurs du Mal." Makes the song a lot clearer, nest-ce pas?

from a translation of "To the Reader" by Charles Baudelaire (from "The Flowers of Evil)

But here among the scorpions and the hounds, the jackals, apes and vultures, snakes and wolves, monsters that howl and growl and squeal and crawl, in all the squalid zoo of vices, one

is even uglier and fowler than the rest, although the least flamboyant of the lot, this beast would gladly undermine the earth and swallow all creation in a yawn;

I speak of Boredom with with ready tears dreams of hangings as it puffs its pipe. Reader, you know this squeamish monster well,

• hypocrite reader, - my alias, - my twin!

also, what Shoegazed posted:

If rape and arson, poison and the knife have not yet stiched their ludicrous designs onto the banal buckram of our fates, it is because our souls lack enterprise!